


Cuddling Under the Mistletoe

by thehufflepuffhobbit



Series: Dwarrow Holidays [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Holiday Fic Exchange, M/M, Sassy Bilbo Baggins, Sickfic, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27937282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehufflepuffhobbit/pseuds/thehufflepuffhobbit
Summary: Thorin falls ill just before Yule, and it's up to Bilbo to make him feel better.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Series: Dwarrow Holidays [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1932241
Comments: 20
Kudos: 34
Collections: Have A Happy Hobbit Holiday 2020





	Cuddling Under the Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnironSidh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnironSidh/gifts).



> I had a good time writing this. Let me know what you think!

It started when they just returned from Bree. They had gone to spend the last couple nights there, to be with other dwarrow for the Festival of Lights. Thorin thoroughly enjoyed the festival - both the intimate celebration just between him and Bilbo, and then going to celebrate properly with a trade caravan that had been stopped in Bree. He hadn't thought anything was amiss; sure, there were Men that had some colds, but those never affected dwarrow.

However, there were some illnesses that could be passed between members of his own race. Nasty, lingering things they were, and he knew as soon as he felt it coming on, his first true Yule in the Shire was going to be miserable.

"I'm sure it was the jeweler. He looked rather pale," Thorin murmured. His energy had started lagging as they crossed through Frogmorton, and by the time they reached Bag End, the dwarf all but collapsed in his armchair in the parlor.

"You should go lie down." Bilbo pointed out softly as he came to Thorin's side, his finger trailing down his dwarf's arm. The soft movement made Thorin shiver, or it was the fever he knew was slowly taking over his body; he couldn’t be completely sure. There was a look in Bilbo’s eyes, as though he would like nothing more than to lift Thorin and take him to bed, much as Thorin had done to him not three months ago when the hobbit had taken ill. For the first time in a long while, he found himself cursing that particular difference between their races because he didn’t think he had the energy to get himself to their bedroom.

"We need to clean before your family comes for Yule." Thorin's voice was soft, and he was struggling to keep his eyes open. Bilbo let out a soft hum, his fingertips trailing through the thick, dark hair, and lovingly stroking the strands of silver at his husband's temple. It was true, Yule would begin in three days, and they had been volunteered to host, thanks to Lobelia. She had tried to get them to host last year as well, but as they only just returned to the Shire a few months prior, it was agreed upon by Bilbo’s more rational relatives that it wouldn't be fair. 

"We have a few days, and I can clean quite well without you." Bilbo took a step back as Thorin opened his eyes to glare at him pitifully. "Go rest, and we can see how you're feeling tomorrow." 

Thorin continued looking up at him, and for a moment, he wondered if they would end up in another stare off. Their battles of will didn't happen too often now - they had gotten better at picking them with one another - but it was still known to happen. After a moment, Thorin let out a sigh and nodded, though it took him another full minute to pull himself from the armchair. 

Bilbo followed him down the hall, and he seemed unsurprised when the short journey seemed to have sapped the rest of Thorin's energy. The dwarf sank onto the bed with a groan, and a touch of Bilbo's hand brought a cold relief to his burning forehead. "Right. Let's get you changed, and I’ll make you some soup. I do wish Oin had mentioned that there were some illnesses you all fall prey to. I’ve been led to believe that sickness didn’t touch you at all,” he rambled slightly as he went about divesting Thorin of his traveling clothes. The dwarf went willingly with all his ministrations, already feeling sleep tugging at him. 

The last time he had gotten this illness, he had slept for nearly a week, only waking long enough to suck down soup and water. As awful as he felt physically, it was nothing compared to the disappointment of knowing that he was going to miss Yule, and he could feel a small pout pulling at his lips at the thought, and he thought it was very kind of his husband to not comment on it. Bilbo had been so enthusiastic about learning about dwarrow holidays and celebrating them as best as they could, between Durin’s Day and the Festival. On the journey from Bree, Bilbo had told him as much as he could about Yule; about the boughs of holly that were brought in, garlands of evergreen with pinecones, the Yule log and mistletoe, the gifts. Thorin had never been that interested in the customs of other races, but that changed once he married his Hobbit. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. He wasn’t sure what time it was or how long Bilbo had been in bed with him, but he was all too familiar with the way the hobbit’s body felt pressed against his. He had fallen asleep at some point, then. 

“For what, sweetheart?” It must have been late. Thorin winced to himself as he heard the heavy quality of Bilbo’s voice, and he was half tempted to not reply so that his husband could fall back to sleep. “Thorin?” There was a shuffling beside him and then Bilbo’s forehead was pressed to his, his sleep sweet exhalations ghosting over Thorin’s lips. “Why are you apologizing?”

“This illness lasts for days. We won’t be able to celebrate.” Thorin’s voice was scratchy, and his head so fuzzy that it seemed as though Bilbo had learned to move extremely quickly; pressed to him in one moment, and standing before him with a glass of water in the next. If he didn’t feel so rotten, he might have teased Bilbo about it. 

“Love, Yule lasts for twelve days. We’ll be able to celebrate plenty once you’re better.” Bilbo seemed as though he wanted to help Thorin sit up to drink, but he stayed where he was, merely watching as Thorin struggled into an upright position. That was just as well; Thorin truly hated being sick and feeling as though he had no control over his body, and that particular combination just led to him being spectacularly grouchy. At least, that was how Bilbo had described it while Thorin had been recovering from the battle. 

This wasn’t quite as bad as the healing from being skewered by an orc blade, but he felt as though it wasn’t far off.

Thorin took a sip of the water, and then another, before he focused on putting the glass on the bedside table carefully. “You said the first night was the best night,” he reminded his husband, and was met with a huff and a quick flash of the whites of Bilbo’s eyes as he rolled them. 

“That’s only because all the cleaning and decorating is finally done. And we will have one next year. It’s fine, Thorin. Though, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that you managed to blame yourself for being sick, you blame yourself for everything else.” Thorin opened his mouth to reply, but Bilbo used his newly revealed speed to place his finger over the dwarf’s lips. “Don’t. We will have Yule, just the two of us, and perhaps when you’re feeling better, we can go to Brandy Hall to celebrate.” 

“What about your shrubs?”

Bilbo looked baffled, mouthing the word to himself as he tried to figure out what Thorin was talking about. The dwarf sighed and shook his head slightly to clear his head from some of the fuzz that seemed to be occupying it - that was not helpful in the least - before he tried again. “The plants and all. You said it reminded you of your parents, to put them up and smell them all throughout Yule.” 

“How on Arda do you remember all that when your head feels like a boiling pot?”

To be honest, Thorin wasn’t sure. If he was feeling better, he might have made a quip about how he remembered everything that Bilbo said, just to watch how a flush rose high on his hobbit’s cheeks while he was called a silly, old dwarf. As it was, he could only shrug, and Bilbo sighed as he tucked Thorin into the blankets. 

“I do like the _greenery_ ,” Bilbo said pointedly, and Thorin’s lips twitched into a small smile in acknowledgement. “And yes, I had been looking forward to putting all the decorations up with you, the way my parents had, but just having you here is enough. I can still decorate while you rest-” Thorin let out a quiet protest; even he knew that he didn’t form actual words, but the meaning was received, judging by the way Bilbo rolled his eyes once more. “While you sit in a chair and look pretty, hmm?”

“Pretty,” Thorin scoffed into the pillow. He was rewarded with Bilbo’s light chuckle and then his hobbit was draped over his back, serving as a living blanket that caused sleep to quickly claim him once more. 

\--------

The next day was worse; his head felt as though Mahal resided there and was pounding away with His hammer, and all his limbs felt far too heavy. Despite Bilbo’s fretting, he pushed himself to get out of the bed, to take a bath and dress. By the time he got himself to his armchair, he was exhausted once more and took a short nap. 

It was worth it to wake up later and see Bilbo, stretched out on a stool, hanging a length of evergreen over the arch trim. A small smile pulled at his lips as he let his eyes trail over his husband. He still hadn’t quite gotten his belly back; Thorin had heard murmurs from other hobbits about how underfed his hobbit still looked, but Bilbo insisted that he was fine. Thorin, at least, knew that there was a fun amount of pudge tucked away under that waistcoat. The light from the fire turned the hobbit’s hair into varying shades of gold, and Thorin’s finger itched to run his fingers through it. Better yet would be if he could just pick Bilbo up and have him in his lap all day, those golden curls always accessible for stroking and nuzzling.

“I can hear your thoughts getting sappy,” Bilbo muttered around the nails that he was holding with his lips. 

“Hardly sappy,” Thorin croaked. Bilbo clicked his tongue against his teeth and stepped down to get him a glass of water. He took the glass but tugged on the hobbit’s wrist gently until his husband got the point. 

“What were you saying?” Bilbo let out a huff but let himself get pulled and settled himself in Thorin’s lap. “I won’t be able to hang anything if I stay here.”

“I’m sure you’ve earned yourself a break.”

“Are you only saying that because you don’t know how long you’ve been sleeping?” Thorin let out a soft hum in response, his chin resting on his husband’s shoulder. With the warm weight of his hobbit in his lap and the feeling of blunt, delicate fingers tracing lines over his forearms, it was tempting to fall asleep once again. “Don’t you dare, Thorin Oakenshield,” Bilbo warned, narrowing his eyes at him. “I still have a lot to do.”

Thorin looked around the parlor as much as he could without moving his head too much, his brows scrunching in confusion. Every possible surface was covered with greenery. Not just the doorway, but around the windows as well, and the mantle of the fireplace. In addition, candles were tastefully and safely scattered throughout the room, somehow increasing the cheeriness. “How is that possible?”

Bilbo shook his head softly before he brushed a light kiss to Thorin’s forehead. Even that small touch was a cool balm, and he couldn’t help but lean into the kiss. “I have to decorate the rest of the smial. I’ve done this room, the entry, kitchen, and East hall, but there’s still the bedrooms and study left.” 

Thorin blinked, knowing that seemed a very illogical way of going about decorating based off the layout of Bag End but not being able to figure out why for a moment. He was about to ask Bilbo, but noticed that his hobbit was very intently staring at a nearby candle, a blush staining his cheeks. Thorin smiled to himself and turned his head just slightly so that his lips were pressed to the hobbit’s neck. “Those are all the rooms you could do while still being able to see me, aren’t they?”

Bilbo huffed and clambered out of Thorin’s lap. “Yes, well. Seemed wrong to leave you by yourself when you’re ill.” Thorin lifted the blanket slightly, and attempted to hide how big his grin had gotten. His husband was many things; courageous, loyal, beautiful, brilliant - but he wasn’t always comfortable with how strongly he felt for others, Thorin included. The dwarf assumed that Bilbo hadn’t even realized he was trying to keep Thorin in sight at all times, he was probably just acting on instinct. 

Rather than pushing the issue, Thorin nodded. “Should we move rooms then? Maybe I can help with something.” He was concentrating on disentangling himself from the blanket while also forcing himself to rise, and so he missed the exasperated but fond smile on Bilbo’s face. 

“We can go to the study,” Bilbo agreed with a nod. “And you call fall asleep on the armchair in there.” 

“I really do feel better, you know.” It was true; maybe that last nap in front of the parlor fireplace had pushed him past the fever. The shuffling steps and slight slur to his words belied his statement, however, and he was gently pushed into the aforementioned armchair once they reached the study. “At least let me help in some way before I sleep again?”

Another kiss was pressed to his forehead, and Thorin grumbled unhappily as he burrowed into blankets once more, resigned to watching Bilbo do all the work of readying their home for the holiday. Bilbo wandered into their bedroom and came back with a basket of green things that Thorin could not even attempt to put a name to. “If you really want, you can help me by making Holly and Mistletoe bundles.” The look on Bilbo’s face showed that he didn’t quite agree with having a sick person work, and Thorin was willing to bet that his husband didn’t make it an hour before telling him to rest once more.

Still, Thorin sat up as eagerly as he could and made grabbing motions for the bundles, which caused Bilbo to laugh quietly to himself. Dwarrow were not made to be idle, not even when weighed down by illness, and Thorin took to the task with determination once his husband showed him what he wanted. As Thorin focused on tying the bundles together with ribbon - none of them too big or paltry - and making sure to include a loop so they were hung more easily from doorways, Bilbo set about his previous task of strewing evergreen garlands and candles all about the surrounding rooms. 

He wasn’t sure how long it had taken before he was hit with another wave of tiredness. By the time he sat back in the armchair, he could no longer easily reach the plants without bending - which had been a mistake he was not eager to repeat after the first time he had tried - he was ready for a nap. “Bilbo,” he called, tying off the latest bundle before he took a sip of tea. The study around him was as festive now as the parlour had been, and his husband padded in from the dining room. “Do you need many more?”

The look on Bilbo’s face was comical, and Thorin felt a pleased smirk tugging at his lips. Bilbo’s eyes had widened as he took in the bundles that Thorin had made, all piled on the floor in front of the dwarf carefully, some nearly as tall as the seat of the armchair. “How-?” The hobbit clocked his mouth with a click and shook his head. “Nevermind, I should have expected that any dwarf assigned to create something would have done just as well.” Thorin nodded proudly and settled back into the armchair. “How about you take a nap, and you can see what it all looks like when you wake?”

Bilbo sat on the floor beside him, looking through the bundles as Thorin finished his tea. The ever-present warmth of the fire and tea, along with the satisfaction of finishing a project, only served to add to his tiredness, and he finally drifted to sleep with his fingers still caught in Bilbo’s golden curls.

\-------

The smial, the little that he had seen of it after he woke up to use the washroom before letting Bilbo drag him to bed, looked to be full to burst of greenery. Thorin had to wonder if there was any evergreen or holly left outside for the other hobbits, but he couldn’t complain. It only added to the cheeriness of their home, while also making it smell fresh enough to remind him of the coming spring, just as it was intended to. 

Thorin slept soundly that night, the light of the fire playing in his dreams, comforting in a way that it wasn’t usually. He had to credit that to Bilbo. It was hard to fear the dragon fire of his dreams with a hobbit’s face pressed to his chest. 

The next morning, Bilbo had slipped back into the room with a tray of light - for a hobbit - breakfast food. They ate their food in bed, with Thorin leaning into Bilbo’s side. “Is the smial ready for everyone to come tomorrow?”

Bilbo seemed to take his time chewing, his eyes roving over Thorin’s face. The dwarf was sure he didn’t look like the picture of health, and in fact felt quite grimy with fever sweat dried to his skin, but there was no veiled disgust in his hobbit’s eyes. Only concern. “I sent a letter telling them not to come because we were sick,” Bilbo admitted after a moment. 

“But-”

“No, Thorin. You don’t need to worry about family coming over while you’re sick. That sort of stress will only make illness linger, and I rather liked sending word to Lobelia that she won’t be able to come this year. At least now I won’t have to worry about any of my silverware going missing.” Bilbo set aside his bowl and pulled Thorin close, his arms wrapping around the dwarf’s shoulders a bit awkwardly. “I would much rather spend Yule with just you. In fact, I can’t think of anything I would like more.”

Thorin’s face felt warm, more from fondness and a small amount of lingering guilt than from his illness. “I would hope you would like my present for you more,” he replied softly, his face turned in such a way so he could nuzzle against Bilbo’s collarbone. 

“You want to give me the present now, don’t you?” Bilbo’s voice was warm, and Thorin couldn’t stop himself from turning towards it, like one of Bilbo’s flowers towards the sun. Quickly, he nodded, and his husband grinned, shaking his head with mock exasperation. “Alright, but if anyone asks, we at least waited until tomorrow. Now, where is it? I’m not letting you leave this bed all day.” 

Thorin playfully rolled his eyes but leaned back against the pillow. “In my work satchel. The front pocket.” There was a shiver of nervousness as the hobbit crossed the room and pulled a small, leather bag from the larger satchel. That nervousness only increased as he watched Bilbo’s face as he opened the bag. Inside were five brass buttons, a replacement to the ones the hobbit had lost in the goblin tunnels. These, however, were crafted by Thorin’s own hand, and bore an Oak and acorn sigil that was unique to just the two of them. “Oh, Thorin…” Bilbo had yet to take his eyes off the buttons that rolled around his palm, and Thorin resisted the urge to ask if he liked them. It was clearly written on Bilbo’s face that he did, and to ask would just be self-serving. “These are absolutely beautiful. You made them?”

Finally, Bilbo came closer and kissed him before he could answer. The past few days had been filled with gentle kisses, pressed to his cheek or forehead or the crown of his head. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed feeling the warmth and softness of Bilbo’s lips against his own until that moment. It wasn’t a deep kiss, but lovely just the same. It held a promise for more, once Thorin was truly better. 

When the kiss broke, Thorin nodded to answer Bilbo’s question before he let his forehead rest against the hobbit’s. “I love them. I’ll have to commission a new waistcoat to put them on.”

“I’m sure you’re terribly put out about the idea of more clothing,” Thorin drawled, unable to keep a grin of his own off his face as Bilbo huffed in response. 

“Hush, you. May I give you your present now?” Thorin nodded, his eyes tracking Bilbo as the hobbit put the buttons away reverently before moving to the closet and taking out a large bundle. “I know you won’t have many reasons to wear it here, but it seemed odd to me to think that Thorin Oakenshield wouldn’t have a fur cloak when we visited Erebor.” As he spoke, Bilbo unraveled the package, revealing a cloak that was very reminiscent of the one he bore on their quest. The previous one had been repurposed after Thorin had abdicated; there were too many memories associated with that piece of clothing. This one, though, was just different enough that Thorin could appreciate it without being reminded of his failings. The fur on the collar was a shade lighter, and the material was a dark blue, rather than the faint black of the other. 

“Bilbo- This must have cost-”

“No.” Thorin’s mouth clicked shut at Bilbo’s interruption and instead let himself trail his fingers over the fur. “You and both know that we have more than enough.” Thorin nodded; even if he didn’t let himself go looking for wherever Bilbo kept the gold they had brought back with them, he was nearly positive they were the wealthiest citizens of the Shire. 

“Thank you, _ghivashel_. I can’t wait to wear it when we go visit.” Thorin clambered from the bed and pulled the cloak around his shoulders. The warmth immediately surrounded him, and he pulled Bilbo to him to wrap him into the cloak as well. Bilbo’s laughter only warmed him further, and for a few moments, they were both content to just stand in their room, their arms wrapped around one another. 

“You let me out of the bed,” Thorin murmured into Bilbo’s curls. The hobbit snorted and gently swatted him on the shoulder. 

“Yes, well, I thought you might like a bath.” Thorin hummed, playing along. He couldn’t deny that yes, he very much did want one. 

“I’ll meet you in the parlor?”

Bilbo nodded and gently took the cloak from Thorin to hang up once more. “I’ll make us lunch.”

As the dwarf moved to the bath, he couldn’t help but wonder at how he had ended up here. Never had he thought he would have a love like this. Full of warmth and companionship, as well as understanding and passion. On many days, it seemed too good to be true, especially for the likes of him. He knew Bilbo would disagree; he would make a comment how Thorin deserved to be so happy, after everything he had suffered, and Thorin wanted to believe that. He let himself believe it, most days, and accepting it was easier as time went on, as Bilbo continued showering him with a love that stole his breath away. 

After he bathed and dressed once more, they had lunch on the floor of the parlor. At some point, Bilbo had urged him to rest his head in the hobbit’s lap, and the crackle of the fire was complemented by Bilbo’s light voice, singing a popular wassailing song.

“I love you, _kurdel_ ,” Thorin murmured sleepily as one song came to a close. Bilbo’s fingers in his hair stilled, and he felt a kiss press to his forehead.

“And I love you. Happy Yule.” The words were whispered in his ear, and Thorin smiled and let out a content sigh as Bilbo resumed singing and carding his hands through the dwarf’s hair. It wasn’t the Yule they had expected to celebrate, but Bilbo had been right, as he so often was. Yule, with just the two of them, in their home that was bursting with life and love, was just as good.

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul:  
>  _ghivashel_ \- treasure of all treasures  
>  _kurdel_ \- heart of all hearts


End file.
